


Sleepless

by chiara_scuro



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 5+1 Things, Domestic Fluff, Engagement, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parenthood, it's fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiara_scuro/pseuds/chiara_scuro
Summary: Five times Simon and Baz didn't get enough sleep and the one time they did. Featuring: anxiety, unfamiliar environments, broken sinks, overdramatic Pitches, koalas and the true meaning of hedonism.A little slice into their post-canon life
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	Sleepless

**Author's Note:**

> Happy valentine's day!!! I hope you enjoy this little 5+1 fic :)  
> Content warning for some anxiety at the beginning. Also I know the "five times they didn't get enough sleep" reads like a nsfw thing but it's not!
> 
> Huge thank you to [Giishu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giishu/profile) for beta reading this so fast!

##  **SIMON**

Baz’s room is never fully dark. He has this mushroom shaped night light plugged into one of his electrical sockets, casting a faint gold glow around his room.

It’s what I’m staring at right now, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Trying not to freak out. Trying to ignore Baz’s worried expression.

“Simon, love,” he starts. His voice is thick with concern and I feel so awful. I hadn’t meant to freak out on him like that, but suddenly, everything was  _ too much _ , even the fact that I was at his flat. I just wanted to run away. I still want to run away, but it’d hurt Baz’s feelings.

Lately, all I do is hurt Baz’s feelings. I should’ve broken up with him on that beach in California. Or when we were in our old room at Watford. Or when we were sat on his aunt’s sofa after that goblin battle and I was still bleeding and Baz cast  **Kiss it better** on me. It broke my heart. I wanted to tell him that he deserves someone better, that I shouldn’t be his family, but when I opened my mouth, all I could do was cry.

That was a month ago. I haven’t tried breaking up with him since. Partially because Baz has been super busy trying to get his family back into a semi-functioning state (which is a Sisyphean task when it comes to the Grimms and Pitches), but mainly because I have been feeling a bit better. Not a lot, but a bit. Enough to shower and eat and lay off the cider. 

Which is why I agreed when Baz suggested I spend the night at his place. Which is why I’m now trying to distract myself from an impending anxiety attack by staring at Baz’s night light.

Nothing even  _ happened _ . Baz made us dinner and then we played board games and I was genuinely having fun; it was easy. (And I beat him at Uno multiple times, which I consider a win in my book.)

It was only when we went to bed that anxiety started to settle in. Baz fell asleep shortly after crawling into bed, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’ve let him down, because all I ever do is let him down. And then he rolled over in his sleep and put his arm around me and that’s when I freaked out. I jumped up and woke him up and now the feeling of letting him down is even worse than before.

He deserves so much better.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Baz asks. I shake my head. I don’t trust myself to speak right now.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Baz tries again. I nod this time.

“Anxiety?” Another nod.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Do I want to talk about it? Yes, I think I do. But I don’t want to explain how I feel, so I shake my head.

“Do you want me to give you some space?”

I surprise myself when I shake my head this time. Normally, I’d nod, even if I wanted Baz to stay here. Staying here would mean he’d have to see me at my worst though. It would remind him that I’m no longer the person I once was. No Greatest Mage would tremble at the prospect of cuddling with his boyfriend.

“’m sorry,” I mutter.

“Don’t be,” he says, but he doesn’t understand. He thinks I’m apologising for freaking out and waking him up. I’m apologising because I’m me. Because this is going to happen again and I thought I was doing better but apparently, I  _ wasn’t _ if I can’t even handle Baz’s arm draped over my chest. I’m just a deadweight. Baz should drop me. I should break up with him.

I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry for being like this,” I choke out. I’m suddenly dangerously close to crying.

“For being a selfless, loyal, courageous bastard?” Baz offers.

“I’m not that anymore.” Why doesn’t he  _ get it _ ? I’m not the same person anymore. I never will be.

“You bloody well are,” Baz objects.

“I’m not brave.”

“You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

“You’d be better off without me,” I mutter, my voice breaking at the end. The tears that have been pooling in my eyes finally spill and I bury my face in my knees in an attempt to hide them from him. I don’t want him to see me.

Baz hasn’t been touching me this whole time, but now his cold fingers wrap around my wrist. “Simon, look at me. I’d be  _ dead _ without you. You saved my life, multiple times, in more ways than one. You never turned your back on me. You’re the only person—” his voice breaks now too. “Fuck. You’re the only person that makes me feel like I have a heartbeat. Like I’m  _ alive _ .”

“You  _ are _ alive,” I mutter into my knees.

“Now’s not the time for this argument.”

“But you are.”

“ _ Simon _ . That’s not the point of this conversation. The point is that you’re not a burden; you’re just a boy who’s had a lot of shitty things happen to him and how you’re feeling is completely understandable.” His voice is so soft – softer than what I deserve.

“I thought I was getting better,” I sniffle.

“You  _ are _ getting better. A month ago, you wouldn’t even get off the sofa and now you’re here. That’s a lot, Simon, even if you don’t see it. And how you’re feeling right now doesn’t undo all the progress you already made. You know that, right?”

I was supposed to know that. It’s something my therapist said all the time, but right now, I don’t feel like I’ve made any progress. I still can’t be close to Baz, not the way I want. And I ruined this whole evening with my stupid anxiety. If Baz wasn’t so hung up on honour, he’d tell me to piss off by now. (He’d tell me to piss off six months ago.)

“I can’t give you what you want,” I mutter. I can hear Baz suck in a breath, getting ready to object, but he doesn’t see what I mean. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t  _ want _ to understand. (Baz is just as stubborn as I am. I suppose we still match in that aspect.)

Before he can say anything, though, I keep talking, not because I want to, but because I don’t want him to list any more reasons trying to explain why I’m such a shitty boyfriend.

“This is all unfair to you. You deserve to be with someone who’s able to hold your hand without freaking out. I can’t even show you how much I love you and that’s—” I pause suddenly, realizing that this is the first time I said it.

Fuck, I hadn’t meant to say it like this. I hadn’t mean to say it at all.

I look up, panicked, and Baz is just staring at me, his eyes a mix of softness and pain. He carefully reaches out and brushes some hair out of my face. His palm cups my cheek.

“You love me,” he repeats. “That’s more than enough for me. That’s more than I ever thought I’d get.”

“But you deserve so much more,” I object. He shakes his head. Firmly.

“I don’t  _ want _ anything more than that. Can’t you see that? You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. I don’t care if you think someone else could give me so much more; I wouldn’t want it because it’s not you.” His voice is firm, determined. He sounds like he’s casting a spell, but there’s no magic.

And he still doesn’t  _ get it _ and I open my mouth to object, but instead, I smash my face forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess; I’m still crying and I think he is too and I’m pushing him harder than I should be, but Baz doesn’t give in an inch. He’s always been stronger than me and now, when he grabs my shoulders and holds me steady and it feels like when I kissed him for the first time. Like this is exactly where I want him to be.

We have to stop because I’m crying too much. Baz pulls me to his chest and lets me sob into the shirt of his posh pyjamas.

“It’s alright love,” he whispers softly while rubbing my back. “It’s alright, I got you. Just let it out.”

So I do. And when the tears finally stop, Baz is still there, rubbing my back.

“Better?” he asks.

“A bit,” I sniffle. The anxiety has left my chest and now all I feel is exhaustion. I let my body slump against Baz’s completely, lazily wrapping my arms around his middle. Baz presses a kiss on the top of my head.

“For the record, I love you too,” he mutters into my hair. “More than you could ever imagine.”

* * *

##  **BAZ**

One thing nobody tells you about being a vampire is how bloody annoying vampire senses are when you move into a new environment.

Nothing feels right; not the sounds, not the smells, not even the bed.

Well, there’s one thing that feels right. Simon Snow, snoring softly beside me, one of his wings draped over my chest like a blanket. Unlike me, he had no trouble falling asleep in our new flat. Must be because he spent all day carrying boxes the non-magickal way.

I turn my head to look at him. He’s drooling on the pillow – it’s adorably revolting and I feel a surge of affection for him. A few years ago, I never thought there’d be a future for us, at least not one that involved a tiny flat in London and day jobs and a yellow kettle that Bunce gifted us as a moving-in gift.

I’ve spent many of my Watford years dreaming about Simon, but I never dared to dream about  _ this _ . About us having a future  _ together _ . It was too personal, too sad, even for me. I knew if I let myself think about it, my lovesick brain would latch onto it and it would hurt so much more when this future together would never happen.

When Simon and I got together, I felt a glimmer of hope, but it was quickly diminished when he started pulling away. There were honestly a few moments where I thought we were done for. But then he started getting better, slowly, but surely. I still didn’t let myself think about it, though, because I knew how fragile it was. I didn’t dare dream of more; I was terrified of losing what I already had.

But Simon got better. And we’d gotten closer. And about a year ago, our relationship finally felt secure enough that I let myself dream about the future. Just dream, though; I didn’t bring any of it up to Snow because I wasn’t sure if he’d like that or how he’d take it. (Snow doesn’t like thinking about the future. He just takes life as it comes.)

In the end it was Bunce who suggested we move in together. She was getting annoyed with me spending nearly every night at their flat and one breakfast, she just said that we should get a flat together.

Simon was immediately on board with the idea, which took me by surprise. (A pleasant surprise.) He asked me if I wanted this too (I obviously did) and when I got back from my classes that day, he’d already found three flats in the neighbourhood that he wanted us to check out.

We ended up going with neither of the three options. Snow wanted for the flat to be in the same neighbourhood as his and Bunce’s old flat, so he could go visit her any time he wanted (Bunce now lives there with the American) (I don’t think she realizes she’s in love with him), but the flat we ultimately decided on is just a bit further out. It’s perfect, though; tiny, but with an amazing view and white painted brick walls. It’s only half furnished at the moment due to Snow not wanting me to “waste magic on assembling Ikea furniture” but I reckon it’ll look amazing by the time we’re done decorating it. (Of course it will, if I’ll have any say in it, which I will.)

“You don’t get to watch me sleep just because we’re roommates again,” Snow’s groggy voice snaps me from my thoughts. I smile.

“I think we’re a bit more than roommates now,” I remind him.

“Potato, pothato,” he mumbles. “I’m still equally obsessed with you.”

My heart flutters at his words. “Go back to sleep,” I tell him. “You’re sappy when you’re tired.”

“Hm. Must’ve picked it up from you.”

“Nope, that’s all you, darling.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asks, completely ignoring my comment.

“Vampire senses. It’s hard for me to sleep in a new environment sometimes.”

Simon shuffles around under his covers until he’s lying on his back, his wing poking against me. Then he loops his arm around me and pulls me closer to him, until my head is resting on his chest, just above his heartbeat.

“Familiar enough?” he asks softly and I just about melt.

I angle my head up and press a kiss just under his jawline. “You’re an idiot,” I say. “But this will do nicely, yes.”

“Alright,” he murmurs sleepily, letting his head fall to the side until his lips brush my forehead. “Goodnight, Baz”

“Goodnight.”

I still lay awake even after he falls back asleep, though. I can hear his heartbeat under my ear, steady and familiar and alive and I realize that maybe it’s not my vampire senses keeping me awake. Maybe it’s just the excitement of us starting a life together. Of  _ this _ being a reality.

Maybe I’m just happy.

* * *

##  **SIMON**

Baz and I went to bed early tonight because we’re boring now. No more slaying goblins or fighting vampires; our Friday nights these days are dedicated solely to watching Netflix and eating pasta.

I didn’t expect this Friday night to be much different; and it wasn’t. We watched a fucking  _ documentary _ (it was Baz’s turn to pick the show) and Baz called me disgusting when I slurped my spaghetti and then we went to bed. All of that was normal.

What wasn’t normal was our kitchen sink deciding to end it all in the middle of the night.

The plumbing in our building is faulty. Sometimes someone else will clog the drain and it’ll affect the whole building or something. I don’t know, I hadn’t really listened when the landlord told us that part. I thought if anything, living with Baz “graduated top of the year” Pitch meant that he’d at least know a spell to unclog the drain.

He doesn’t. Not for the lack of trying. He’s currently sifting through his books while I’m readjusting the towels underneath the busted pipe.

We’ve called the building caretaker, but of course, he didn’t pick up. I’ve called Penny too, but she didn’t pick up either.

“I think we’re going to need a bucket,” I mutter, examining the soaked towels underneath the pipes.

“What’s holding you back, Snow?” Baz remarks, not bothering to look up from his books.

“I’m performing the honourable duty of protecting the hardwood floors so that  _ you _ don’t have a mental breakdown,” I remind him.

Baz sighs and gets up from the kitchen table. “I’m sure at this point, it would be easier to find a spell to fix ruined hardwood floors than it would to fix this sink,” he mutters.

“While you’re at it, could you get some new towels as well?” I call behind him as he pads into the bathroom. He returns with a mop bucket but no towels.

“Towels, darling,” I remind him.

“You’re forgetting you live with a mage.” Baz plops himself down next to me and casts  **Dry as bone** on the towels.

“That spell shouldn’t work,” I comment. “Bones are actually wet.”

Baz makes a face. “It’s too late for disgusting body facts, Snow. Or too early.” He groans and buries his head in my shoulder. “Why must this happen to us? Life is unfair!” he laments.

“Don’t you think you’re being just a tiny bit overdramatic?” I laugh.

“My reaction is completely justified. The hardwood floors are at stake!”

Sometimes I think Baz loves hardwood floors more than he loves me.

“Can’t you just cast  **Dry as bone** on the sink and be done with it?” I ask.

“No, that’d just leave the whole building without water.”

“I think maybe they deserve it. For whichever idiot clogged the pipes and made it our problem.”

I can feel Baz shake with laughter beside me. “Are you seriously plotting revenge on our neighbours by having me magickally cut off their water supply?”

“What can I say, you’re a bad influence on me,” I smile.

“I think you mean excellent influence. Who do you think did it?”

“What?”

“Who clogged the drain?”

“Oh.” I think for a second. “I think maybe that lady with really long hair? I mean, if  _ your _ hair comes out so much in the shower, I can’t possibly imagine what hers is like.”

“Hm, no I don’t think so,” Baz says. “I think it was the German guy.”

“What, Otto?” I ask in disbelief. “I’m sure it wasn’t him.”

“Why not, Snow? He cooks a lot. He’s a disorganized mess like you. He probably threw something down the drain.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like him,” I accuse him.

“Have you met me, Snow? I don’t like anyone.”

“You like me,” I offer. Baz tsks and shakes his head.

“I tolerate you,” he says. I know he’s joking. Baz loves me (even more than hardwood floors) and he makes sure to remind me of that every day. (Not always by saying it. But I know.) And I’m in a good enough place mentally now to accept his love. To know that I deserve it.

He’s just being grouchy because we have to deal with our sink at two in the morning, but I still nudge him in mock-offence.

“So romantic,” I comment. Baz scoffs.

“I tolerate you very, very much,” he says, nuzzling himself closer to me as if to prove his point. I smile and sling my arm around him.

“I tolerate you too,” I say before pressing a kiss on top of his head.

“Sap.”

“That’s all your influence.”

We sit huddled up together, staring at the water dripping in the bucket.

“Do you think it’s possible that  _ we _ clogged the drain?” I ask after a few minutes of silence.

“Not a chance.” 

* * *

##  **BAZ**

Simon Snow is the most disorganized, messy person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I might be stealing lines from Shepard here, but living with him is like living with a tornado. He wreaks havoc in every room he inhabits. 

He leaves empty mugs everywhere. When he’s done eating a chocolate bar, he just stuffs the wrapper in his pockets. He never makes the bed. He forgets to put the milk back in the fridge. He never folds or hangs up his shirts and then I have to spell the wrinkles out for him every morning. (Well, I don’t  _ have to _ . I do because I don’t want my boyfriend walking around looking like a cow chewed on his shirt.) (I don’t think he knows.) I haven’t seen him wear a matching pair of socks in five years.

Even when we were sharing a room at Watford and he didn’t have a lot of things, he still managed to be messy. We used to fight over it constantly.

I’m convinced if Snow didn’t have me, his messiness and clutter and disorganization would swallow him whole. Really, I should demand a thank you note for organizing his wardrobe the other day. (What kind of a barbarian doesn’t fold their pants? Simon Snow, apparently. He doesn’t even care about compactness, he just shoves them in his drawer and calls it a day. Honestly.)

Which is why, when Simon proposed to me, I didn’t expect much from him in terms of wedding planning. I mean, why would I? Simon has never planned for anything in his life; he just takes it as it comes. (And I adore that about him. It balances out my overthinking, or as he calls it, my ‘tendency to plot.’)

I thought Bunce and I would be taking the wheel when it comes to planning our wedding. (Mine and Snow’s, not mine and Bunce’s. I love her, but I don’t swing that way and she claims she has standards.) (The operative word here being “claims” because she’s dating an American who I’m pretty sure seduced a cryptid at some point in his life.)

I mean, we’re the most organized people I know. And we have a whiteboard. And of course, Snow would have a say in it, but he hates bureaucracy and phone calls and emails, so I expected Snow and I to be making the decisions and Bunce and I to be keeping tabs on said decisions.

I should’ve learned by now to never underestimate Simon Snow, because he dove headfirst into wedding planning. He even bought a binder with multicoloured tabs and sticky notes. I don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to him.

These days, I’ll often wake up to a cold side of the bed and find him in the living room, trying to budget the napkins or something else adorably ridiculous.

Tonight is no different. I roll over, still half asleep, my hand feeling for Simon but finding only our cat, which means two things; our cat is way too spoiled and the idiot I’m pleased to call my fiancé is probably camped out on the sofa with a calculator in his hand  _ again _ . I roll onto my back and let myself smile into the darkness for a while. I’m so in love with this fool. (Even if he did spoil our cat.)

My suspicions are confirmed when I walk out of our bedroom and see Snow sitting on the sofa, hunched over the wedding binder, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

I clear my throat and he suddenly looks up. His face softens.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself, Snow. Can’t sleep?” I step towards the sofa and sit down next to him so that I can see what’s keeping him up this time. He’s got the map of the reception hall opened.

“I found a flaw in our seating order,” he sighs. “We absolutely cannot seat your great-aunt Meredith next to Daphne’s sister unless we want to start another war, right? So then I was thinking to maybe move Meredith to Agatha’s family, but then we’d have to move Joyce and—”

“Simon, it’s four in the morning,” I cut him off.

“And?”

“And we can deal with the seating order in the morning, when we’re actually rested.”

Simon sighs and shakes his head. “I just… I have to figure this out. Is there anyone at this wedding that your great-aunt hasn’t gotten in a fight with in the past twenty years?”

I laugh. “It’s sweet that you’re this optimistic but no. She’s a Pitch.”

He groans in frustration and starts tapping his leg, a sure sign that he’s nervous.

“Hey, Simon.” I wrap my arms around him. “This is my family, okay? It’s not your duty to deal with them.”

“Yeah, but you’re  _ my _ family,” he says stubbornly. My heart flutters and I can feel all the blood I drank this evening rising to my cheeks.

“But that doesn’t mean you have to deal with my great-aunt’s drama. Leave it to me.”

“But you hate dealing with your family,” he objects. I laugh.

“I would hate it more if my great-aunt decapitated the love of my life before I could actually marry him,” I say. “Seriously, I know how to handle her.”

Simon turns his head to me and raises an eyebrow. “So it’s okay for her to decapitate me  _ after _ we’re married, is that what you’re saying?”

I smirk. “Oh yeah. Purely for the insurance money,” I joke. Simon scoffs.

“Should’ve known what I was getting into when I chose to marry a plotting prick.”

“Hm, you should’ve.” I press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve been plotting this since the day I met you.”

“It’s concerning that an eleven-year-old would know about insurance fraud.”

I laugh and start pressing kisses down his neck. “Insurance fraud was one of the first things we learned about in magickal nursery. Now, do you want to come back to bed?” I mutter against his skin.

He turns to me and smiles. “Alright.” He wraps his arms around me and then the idiot is  _ lifting me _ off the sofa.

“Wait, wait, Simon!” I protest, but it’s too late once he’s set his mind on something. “What are you doing?”

“Practicing for our wedding,” he says, somehow still managing to shrug even though he’s holding me. I wrap my legs around his waist so it’s easier on his arms.

“You are  _ not _ picking me up at our wedding.”

He smiles. “We’ll see.”

“We won’t see.”

“You like it,” he accuses, looking too damn pleased with himself.

“I hate every second of it,” I lie.

“Hm. You like it.” He nuzzles into my neck and presses a kiss on my collarbone. “Admit it.” He looks back up at me, his blue eyes glistening in the soft lighting, his eyebrows raised as if he’s daring me.

I’ve never been one to back off from a dare with Snow, with the one exception being when backing off means kissing him. Which is exactly what I do now.

I can tell it takes him by surprise, but he holds me steady.

Simon Snow is many things, but underneath it all, he’s steady. Life has thrown many things at him, but he’s emerged each time. He’s strong. He’s brave. He’s mine. He will be mine for the rest of our lives.

And I love him so damn much. I break away from our kiss to tell him so.

Simon always blushes when I tell him I love him, even after all these years. And he always says it back, no matter what.

“Does this mean I can lift you at our wedding?” he asks, smiling. I laugh and kiss him again.

“Not a chance. I’ll lift  _ you _ ,” I tell him.

“Only if I can lift you too,” he demands.

“Well, if we’re being realistic, Fiona will probably get drunk and try lifting both of us at the same time.”

We both laugh at that.

“Okay, maybe we should establish a lifting ban at our wedding,” Simon says.

“Finally, something reasonable coming from your mouth,” I tease him. Simon makes a face.

“Darling, I think you’re forgetting something here,” he says.

“What is that?”

“You’re at my mercy now. I could easily drop you on the floor.”

I smile and cling onto him tighter. “You wouldn’t do that.”

I can feel his laugh vibrating through my chest. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.”

“Alright my humble horse,” I command him. “Take me to bed.”

He scoffs. “You’re so demanding,” he says, but starts walking us towards the bedroom. I lean on his shoulder.

“That’s nothing,” I say. “Wait until we’re married.”

* * *

##  **BAZ**

Both Simon and I jolt awake when we hear the crying. Simon groans into his pillow.

“That’s like the third time tonight,” he mumbles. “Shouldn’t she be sleeping through the night at this age?”

“I think we’ve settled that she’s a night owl,” I mutter. “It’s your turn, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know.” He pushes himself out of bed. “Enjoy your sleep, you arse.”

“I will.”

I listen to Simon’s padding down the corridor and the creak of our daughter’s nursery room door.

“Hello, you little munchkin.” Simon’s soft voice is muffled through two sets of walls and a door, but I have vampire hearing. Charlie is still crying. “Alright, come on, let’s fix you a bottle, shall we?” Simon coos.

The floorboards squeak as he carries her to the kitchen and I close my eyes again. Back when we first adopted Charlotte, I used to wait for Simon to come back to bed whenever it was his turn to feed her or change her nappies, but the chronic lack of sleep is too strong now. I drift back to sleep to the sounds of Simon banging around the kitchen.

I guess my sleep deprived brain still somehow knows when Simon doesn’t come back to bed, because I jolt awake again and Simon’s side of the bed is still empty. I peek at the clock; it’s been thirty minutes since he got up to feed her.

I sigh and push the covers aside.

“Hey love, is everything alright because you didn’t—” I stop abruptly at the sight in front of me. Simon Snow is sitting on the sofa, his legs outstretched on the coffee table, fast asleep. Our daughter is laying in his chest in a very similar state.

My heart gives a squeeze at the two of them. I know having children is something both Simon and I had wanted for some time now, but perhaps I didn’t realize just how badly  _ Simon _ wanted them until we adopted Charlie. (Well, fostered. We’re still in the adoption process.)

Sometimes I don’t think I even realized how much  _ I _ wanted it. I have no idea why we waited so long.

I tiptoe to the sofa and slowly, carefully, sit down next to them. Simon blinks his eyes open in confusion.

“It’s just me,” I whisper, leaning against his shoulder. Simon’s still holding Charlie with both of his hands (as he should), but his tail sneaks up and wraps around my waist.

“Hey.” His voice is hoarse and sleepy. I love it.

“You got her to sleep,” I observe, carefully running my hand through Charlie’s curls. She’s already got a headful of hair, curly like Simon’s. Hers are chestnut brown, though, as opposed to Simon’s toffee brown.

“Yeah, well, she’s like you. Cuddle her for five seconds and she’s passed out.”

I scoff. “I am not like that.”

Simon raises an eyebrow at me. “Do I need to remind you of two days ago?” he asks.

“That was different. I think you can agree that we’re both very sleep-deprived at the moment.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never felt more well rested in my life,” Simon says while yawning.

I laugh. “Right, and the Earth is flat.”

“I think at this point, if someone told me the Earth was flat, I’d probably take their word for it. I’m too tired for critical thinking,” he sighs.

“That someone would probably be Shepard explaining the latest thing he’s found in the depths of Reddit.”

“You think he’d believe the flat Earth theory?” Simon asks, his voice doubtful.

“No, I just think he’d find flat-eathers fascinating. You know, like centaurs or koalas.”

“Oh, that makes more sense,” Simon mutters. “Did you know koalas may sleep up to twenty-two hours a day?”

I groan. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this but I wish I was a koala.”

Simon chuckles. “Yeah, I see the appeal.”

“Speaking of which, do you think it’s safe to move this little koala back to her bed without causing a scream fest?” I ask, nodding my head at Charlie.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

I move aside to give Simon more space, but the moment he starts getting up, Charlie starts squirming and whimpering.

“Apparently not,” Simon sighs, leaning back on the sofa. Our daughter calms down again. (How does she  _ know _ ?)

“We’ll just wait for a bit longer,” I say, grabbing a throw blanket from the edge of the sofa. I wrap it around myself and scoot back closer to Simon. His tail sneaks around my waist again.

“You can go back to bed, you know?” Simon says softly, nuzzling his face into my hair.

“Bed doesn’t have you,” I mutter.

“Sap.”

“Says the man who cried more at our wedding,” I retort.

“It was a tight win,” Simon defends himself.

“But a win nevertheless.”

“You’re just going to fall asleep if you stay here.”

“No,” I say even though my eyes are already feeling heavy. I close them and settle more comfortably on his shoulder.

“Maybe I should call Pick too and have him lay on my head or something. You know, so that the whole family can fall asleep on me,” Simon laments.

I smile a bit at the word family, even though that’s exactly what we are; a family. That’s what Simon and I always were, but now that we have a night owl baby and a spoiled cat join the mix, it feels more real than ever before.

“Maybe you should,” I mumble.

“See, I told you you’d fall asleep!”

I manage to scoff before sleep overtakes me.

* * *

##  **SIMON**

Nobody tells you this, but the biggest blessing of adult life are the days when you don’t have to set an alarm in the morning, especially when your husband lets you eat breakfast in bed too.

We haven’t had one of those days in a while. (Even though we could totally eat breakfast in bed every day. I don’t know why Baz is so meticulous about this, especially since he can just spell the crumbs away.)

But Charlie’s in Hampshire (the third biggest blessing of adult life are grandparents) and it’s Valentine’s Day and I think I should be allowed to eat breakfast in bed, especially if I’m the one who makes it. (Which I am. Baz is not a morning person and he was never much of a breakfast person either. His go-to is usually coffee and maybe a biscuit or two and he always rolls his eyes when I tell him breakfast is the most important meal of the day.) (“I’m already dead, Snow.” Stubborn prick.)

I’m halfway through scrambling the eggs when I feel a familiar pair of arms wrap around my waist. (He spelled my wings away last night and the spell still hasn’t worn off.)

“Morning darling,” Baz mutters into my shoulder. He still sounds sleepy. I lean back into him.

“Morning. I didn’t expect you to be up yet.”

“The bed was cold,” Baz says with mock betrayal in his voice. “One would think you’d at least stay in for a cuddle on Valentine’s Day, but I forgot to take your love for food into account,” he teases me. I jab my elbow back, hitting his ribs.

“I’m making this for you, you brat.”

Baz doesn’t answer that, just buries his head into my shoulder again and starts pressing little kisses there. “That’s sweet,” he says finally.

“I know. I am the pinnacle of sweetness.”

Baz laughs. “Of modesty too.”

“Obviously. Can you get the tray ready?”

“The tray? I didn’t realize we were being hedonistic this morning.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “You know I don’t know what this means, right?”

Baz laughs and presses a kiss to my cheek before letting go off me. “I know.”

After breakfast and a good snog, I still don’t know what hedonistic means, but I decide that if it means kissing Baz all morning, we should definitely be hedonistic every day.

And Baz calls me an idiot when I tell him that.

But then he kisses me again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing a follow up fic to this one! More about Charlie and how they got her because I made up a whole backstory so ofc, I had to write it! It also reveals why their cat's name is Pick because tbh, that's a weird name for a cat. Hopefully, it'll be out for Baz's birthday 
> 
> Also I don't really like the +1 bit but shhh
> 
> Anyway, [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vampire-named-gampire)


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